Dim Sum, Closer Style: Don't Forget the Hot Mustard
by Labyrinth01
Summary: Dim Sums are short vignettes, often in responses to a challenge, started on The Closer Forum. Each chapter is a complete story and can contain any Closer or Major Crimes character(s). It's a bit of a sampler plate. So grab your chopsticks,choose something tasty, and take a bite!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: Welcome to my Dim Sums! I have a bunch of these sitting on my 'puter and I thought that I might as well toss them on here. Although no one seems to read my non-M material. Maybe I need to come up up a series of Adult Dim Sums (Naughty Nibbles? tee hee). The possibilities are endless...**

**Focus, Laby. This **Dim Sum Challenge this was written for was is called "Through Someone Else's Eyes." The goal is to write about a main character from the perspective of a minor, or more minor, character. That's not exactly what I did here at all, but creative license and all that.  
****

**Two Options Dim Sum**

Brenda watched Fritz as he got ready for bed. She leaned against the bathroom doorframe and listened as he talked at a faster speed than usual, his voice occasionally muffled by the necessary maneuvers of flossing and brushing. He was still wound up from his intense night of rescuing two small children kidnapped and held hostage by their psychopathic father, during which Fritz shot the perp in the head. His use of terminal force was something she knew he hadn't even begun to process; that would come later. Tonight was about grounding, getting the stress-soaked lines unblurred so his world can come back into focus and return to its normal pace. _Breathe, Fritzy, Breathe_, Brenda thought.

In the middle of one of his nervous, fragmented renditions of the day's events, interrupted by frequent hugs and kisses, Fritz mentioned almost off-handedly that Taylor had offered him the position of Deputy Chief of the Special Operations Bureau. Brenda tried to get Fritz to stay on topic and explain how this came about: Chief (oh, how it galled her that Taylor was now a Chief) Taylor never particularly expressed any admiration for Fritz, and in fact had gotten on his case for punching an Indian diplomat a couple of weeks before. Fritz couldn't offer any insight as to why Taylor was so solicitous, but then stopped pacing long enough to say, "one reason, I think, I that McGuinness seems to like me, and I guess that's a rare thing." He shrugged his shoulders and was off for more laps around the living room and on to another topic, asking Brenda about how much tactical training Major Crimes was required to undergo, and could she make him a sandwich?

In the intervening hours he hadn't brought the topic of working for SOB up again, and neither had she, but it was all Brenda could think about. As she watched Fritz fold and refold a hand towel, she considered how great it would be for Fritz to have an opportunity to advance to such a high-level job, since his stint in rehab had hindered his prospects at the FBI. The money was excellent; with his salary matching hers, they would be quite comfortable. And best of all, to have such a strong LAPD influence in a powerful position could help her immensely in her place at the DA's office. Everyone always liked Fritz. But that was the problem, wasn't it?

Brenda shifted her position and followed Fritz with her eyes as he went to his dresser and rummaged around, half naked, for pajamas. She swept the clean, hard planes of his chest and arms, marveling at his perfect body. Her husband was a very sexy man, and other women noticed. Women like Ann McGuinness, who was very attractive herself, couldn't help but observe how attractive and charming Fritz is. McGuinness is a workaholic, Brenda had heard, most likely her way of dealing with the terrible loss in her life. Unofficially running SOB four years isn't exactly conducive to dating, so Brenda guessed she was single. And if Fritz took the Deputy Chief position…Working closely with a sweet man like Fritz Howard, long hours in intense situations…no other outlets for meeting people…these things are the perfect ingredients for illicit love affairs to blossom. She should know. She had the best of intentions when she started at the DC police, and ended up with a terrible outcome. Brenda couldn't let that happen, not to Fritz, to her, to _them_. Fritz was her world, and she would do anything to protect her marriage.

Fritz was in bed, patting her empty side enthusiastically and suggesting ways to work off his tension. She smiled warmly at him and let her robe slide off her shoulders. As he pulled her down and kissed her so hard she could practically taste his adrenaline, Brenda made a mental note to return a phone call first thing in the morning. Homeland Security had left a message yesterday about a job opening. She wasn't interested yesterday. Today she is. Tomorrow that job could save everything.

THE END


	2. Trashy Girls

****Episode: Fatal Retraction****

**Dim Sum Challenge: "Through Another's Eyes"  
**

* * *

**Trashy Girls**

During my first trial, I overheard Dr. Easton talking to DDA Powell about my old girlfriends. He told her I liked "women with a touch of sleaze." What a polite way to describe a demographic: trailer park dwellers, with breath smelling of Marlboros and tramp stamps peeking out below tight tank tops. Trashy girls.

It was the only thing that shrink ever got right about me.

The girls that daddy neglected, or the ones who never had a daddy at all, were the ladies who came running when I called. They shared their cigarettes and their beds eagerly, and getting them drunk enough to do exactly what I wanted was never a problem, because how much does a six pack of Bud cost? But best of all, they expected so little, which is exactly how much I wanted to give.

I admit, I have a type. Give me long blonde hair-from a bottle or from god, I wasn't choosy- and a tight little body, not too many brains, and I was a happy man.

Meeting my dream girl at the LAPD the day I found out Lisa Barnes just died was almost as good as the news that I was getting out of jail. Beautiful long locks to match a flawless face and a figure she clearly wanted me to notice. I wondered what Just Plain Brenda's tattoo looked like, perched on the curve of her delicious ass, and imagined running my hand slowly down her back over and over again. As hot as I was for her body, though, it was what came out of her mouth that really ensnared me. _That accent_. That honeyed Southern cadence flowed out of her mouth and evoked images of kudzu and magnolia trees and sweet tea and sweaty bodies sticking to each other from the heat. If we were alone I would put my mouth on her swanlike neck and press my tongue against that white skin of hers. I was sure sure she tasted like peaches. _Just Plain Brenda_, she said her name was. Nothing plain about her in the least.

I noticed her eyes didn't look away from mine when challenged like most women I meet, too unsure of themselves to stand their ground. I'm quick to establish myself as boss, as owner, and girls are quick to accede, nervous little hands with red plastic nails twisting in their laps, secretly hoping in exchange for control I will give them love. Fools. But Just Plain Brenda wasn't about to give me anything, And so I had to try and take what I wanted.

_Not a flinch_. She didn't even blink her eyes. The chair I flipped on the table made such a racket in the little room that hurt my ears, but I saw no reaction from my Southern princess. I knew now then that she was very, very different from my usual type, and I wondered what Dr. Easton would think. I was certain after my little test that her petite back was barren of ink, and she had all of her original teeth. She most likely eschewed cheap beer in lieu of wine. and she didn't hang out in crappy bars or spend her welfare checks on cigarettes and lottery oh, that hair, that sweet, lithe body, and that voice…I want to be lulled into another reality by that voice. I was sure I knew that Just Plain Brenda was anything but plain.

And I was right. My lawyer told me she really was. _Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson. _Highest ranking female in the LAPD. No touch of sleaze in this one. I needed to write her off, but I couldn't. The longing just drew stronger, and I was furious with my own desire. I had to see her again, when she wasn't trying to play me, in hopes I would be repelled enough to purge her from my mind. My lawyer took me to her office, and I saw who she really was. She ruled men from big office, even bossed Flynn—_Flynn_—around, with an air of authority around her, and yet that wasn't enough to squash my growing obsession. Educated and powerful. I hated women like her_. Don't I?_

It was very risky, going to her house. I waited for hours on her porch, and the reaction was what I expected. A gun in my face. Cops. Flynn smacking me around on the way to the station. But it was worth it, all the trouble. Completely worth it.

Why? My faith in my taste in women was restored. When she Brenda dropped her groceries at my intrusion, a box of Ho-hos fell out.

She's got a little trailer park in her after all.

**_Don't you just love Bill Croelik? If you do, leave me a review and tell me about it._**


	3. Disguarded Things

**A/N :** I positively adore the ep "Live Wire," because Brenda behaves so terribly, and a angry Fritz is a very sexy Fritz. I always wondered what her squad thought was going on that night when Fritz showed up at the LAPD with smoke coming out of his ears. So I wrote a Dim Sum to find out!

Thanks to the awesome people who reviewed the previous story/chapter. I love you!

****Dim Sum challenge: "Through Someone Else's Eyes"****

**POV:** David Gabriel

* * *

David Gabriel knew something was very wrong when he saw her throw away a piece of chocolate. Chocolate was sacrosanct to Chief Johnson; it was her drug, her mother's milk. She always had a stash, she never shared, and she certainly didn't toss it out.

The Chief had kept him and Irene waiting in her office for almost two hours after interrupting their argument, a technique she used with suspects to unnerve them. Yes, he was unnerved alright. Gabriel didn't talk to Irene lest it escalate to another screaming match, and each sluggish minute was followed by one another dragging its heels until he finally heard the Chief's extremely angry steps coming down the hall. He reasoned whatever she planned to mete out as punishment couldn't be as painful as the chasm of silence between him and Daniels.

She had only yelled at him one other time, when he had beat up the child rapist Rodger Stemple, something he never regretted doing despite the repercussions. Tonight it felt like there were layers to her fury, as if something else was going on besides unprofessional behavior and transfer issues. When he saw the Chief chuck a perfectly good piece of imported Belgian chocolate in the trash, the one she had reached for like a pacifier the second she walked into the office, he knew his suspicions were correct.

During the interminable time in her office with Irene, Gabriel got a call from a furious Trish Masters, demanding to know why ten FBI agents were camped out in her living room expecting someone to come after a nonexistent laptop. At first Gabriel couldn't figure out why the FBI was doing a stakeout at Ben Masters' house when the laptop was at Ben's hidaway, but in the brutal boredom of his long wait for the Chief's punishment, he began to put the pieces of a very strange puzzle together. Fritz's el Jeffe case. Fritz's Black Book in the Chief's office. Her repeated glances down the hall, as if expecting someone unwanted to appear. The innocent piece of dark cocoa viciously tossed after his dismissal was the final clue.

His and Irene's love had melted away slowly, like ice cream in winter, and it was gone before they even noticed it was waning. But betrayal could burn up love fast, gasoline on a fire, and you're left poking around in the ashes and wondering how something solid was gone forever because of the choices you made. He knew, he had been there.

Gabriel had seen it on her face in her office tonight: a moment of realization that she had done something truly awful, and it was going to cost her dearly. And no chocolate in the world was going to sweeten that poison.

_**If you like, don't burden yourself by holding it in. Let me know! I"m desperate for some writing inspiration right now.**  
_


	4. Michelle, 525-7777

**Episode: Out of Focus  
**

**Fritz POV**

**Dim Sum Challenge: "The Cutting Room Floor" (bits and pieces of scenes that could have been in the show)**

* * *

When she started gesticulating wildly and the rambling became more frenetic, Fritz knew he had to say something.

He put his hand on Brenda's shoulder and caught one of her flailing hands. "You're not late," he said, hoping his soft tone would calm Brenda down. "Your jealous."

"I'm both," she said. He was surprised by her honesty, and Brenda took advantage of this and slipped out of his reach. Before he could blink, she was out the door.

He sighed and sat back down at the table and pushed away his soggy cereal. Crazy Brenda. Brilliant, insecure, passionate, beautiful Brenda. Sometimes he wondered what he had gotten himself into, living with this unpredictable, mercurial woman. No one at the LAPD would guess that the woman who spit nails could act like a high schooler ready for a girl fight over her boyfriend.

But he loved her. She drove him crazy ,but he loved her. And he would do anything for her, big or small. And in the great scheme of things, what he was about to do was a very small sacrifice.

Fritz pulled out his Blackberry from his suit pocket and thumbed through the contacts until he came to "Martin, Michelle," and chose her cell.

A flirty "Fritzy" filled his ear, and he winced. He hated when people called him that. Except Brenda. When Brenda started calling him by his distasteful nickname, he took it as a sign of progressing intimacy, a growing affection, and it told him that his feelings for her weren't unrequited. He would happily be Brenda's "Fritzy" any time.

He interrupted Michelle's enthusiastic chatter about tonight's dinner plans by stating, as clearly as he could, the purpose of his call. She was a lawyer, after all, and had a way with taking Fritz's words and twisting them around until the conformed to what she wanted to hear.

As Fritz predicted, Michelle protested loudly. "You're cancelling tonight?" Her voice was so loud he had to hold the phone away from his ear. "But I haven't seen you in months! Give me one good reason why you are blowing me off, yet again." In his mind's eye he saw her stamping her foot.

He had hoped Michelle took the hint when he moved in with Brenda and didn't give her his new number. Fritz cleared his throat and did what he should have done months ago.

"You can't call me anymore, Michelle," he said. "Ever again. And before you ask why, I'll tell you. Brenda tends to get a little jealous. I love her, and I have to respect that. And if she knew I was still talking to my ex-girlfriend, she would be really angry."

The hostile "click" in Fritz's ear sounded like a door slamming on his old life.

**Feedback?**


	5. She Comes In Color Everywhere

**Dim Sum challenge: "Through Another's Eyes." Buzz POV  
**

**Author's notes: **I think that Buzz knows more about the squad than everyone else combined. People forget he's around because he's quiet and he's used to fading into the background, but I don't think he misses a trick. Perhaps when he retires, Buzz will write a tell-all about his days in the LAPD, entiled..."Salty Nuts?" "Take Your Balls and Go Straight Home?" The possibilities are endless.

Thanks SO MUCH to you awesome folks who reviewed the previous stories. I couldn't come up with a monetary value for a kind review if I tried, not in dollars, not in Euros, not in Galleons. They are priceless

* * *

It was obvious. I know my eyes have grown sharp from years of squinting through a camera lens, and paradoxically, studying the dead had made me sensitive to small details about the living. Even so, the men I work with must be blind not to realize that Will Pope and Brenda Leigh Johnson had a past.

When I first saw them in the same room together, the lust rolling off of Pope pulsed orange-red and wafted proprietorially around Chief Johnson's hips. This visible chemistry shocked me so much I sat up in my chair and looked around, sure everyone else was stunned by the sight, but nothing registered in their faces but distain for their new boss. I was mesmerized by the dance in front of me; they moved around each other in such a way that belied an old intimacy, as if former lovers can never be in the same orbit without reacting to each other, like charged atoms. Chief Johnson didn't welcome this familiarity, though , and Pope's desire was silently met with a wall of red-hot fury.

This emotional artistry got more interesting when Agent Howard started coming around. Pope's movements were clipped, his words impatient and brusque around the interloper, glaring black daggers at Agent Howard's back. He closed the space between him and Chief Johnson whenever he could, pressing his lust against her anger, which was…slowly being eclipsed by something else. A bright pink emotion. I squinted at this cacophony of colors that wrapped around these three people, unspoken history and feelings swirling together, and I again wondered how the detectives I work with could be so oblivious.

I luckily missed Estelle Pope's diva performance, but I couldn't escape the aftermath. Lieutenant Flynn practically slobbered over the news, and it took everything I had not to tell him that any fool with eyes should have known about Pope and the Chief for a long time. But out of respect for her, and in order to maintain the role of wallflower that afforded me so much freedom, I remained silent. But I never stopped watching. Despite the damage Estelle inflicted by making her ex-husband's history with Chief Johnson the LAPD gossip of the year, Pope's relentless lust never flagged. It still circled around Chief Johnson like a lasso, as if he were trying to capture her and drag her back to him. But Chief Johnson changed, albeit slowly. Her body stopped responding to his in that familiar way, and the vapor of anger eventually dissipated all together.

And the hot pink aura, well, I finally figured that out. One evening the Chief and I were walking out of the Electronics room at the end of a long day, discussing the case we had just wrapped up, when Agent Howard stepped off the elevator. She stopped talking mid-sentence and picked up her pace, and it was clear I was forgotten. When she reached Agent Howard she threw herself into his outstretched arms, and a flair of fuchsia briefly surrounded both of them. _Of course_, I thought. _Pink is the color of love._

_Awww. What do you think? Did I do Buzz justice?_


	6. A B- in History

**Episode: Grave Doubts**

**Dim Sum Challenge: **"The Cutting Room Floor." This challenge is to write about a deleted partial scene, a minute or or so that we would have have liked to have seen.

**Author's Notes: **I love this episode, because not only do we get to see Fritz in the shower, but we get to see bitchy Brenda and vulnerable Brenda like mood swings in a bipolar person. It's amazing how her father reduces her to a child so easily. Anyways, I was always curious exactly what the letter said. Because truth be told, the notion that Clay granted his forgiveness always pissed me off a bit. Brenda didn't do anything wrong, so where did Clay get off granting his forgiveness? He really needed to get some boundaries with his 40 year old daughter.

**Thank you thank you thank you** to all of you have reviewed this little literary ditty. I really appreciate it.

* * *

"I forgive you, Brenda," Fritz said, "and so does your father." He handed Brenda the opened letter.

She pushed herself up off the bed and unfolded it with shaky hands. Inside was her father's familiar military-perfect script.

_Dear Brenda,_

_I decided to write you a letter instead of talking on the phone because I needed to collect my thoughts. Sometimes things come out of my mouth different than I want them to, and we all know that once you say them, words can't ever be taken back. Capiche? _

_I was very angry about recent goings on, but not for the reason you think. Both you and your mother have been lying to me for over a year about Fritz living with you. And that, Brenda, is what makes me real upset. After hollering at your mother for an hour when I asked her why a man would be answering a phone at your house in the middle of the day and she 'fessed up, I went off and did what your mother calls "sulking." I call it plain old-fashioned thinking things over. And my mulling helped me reach a few conclusions._

_While it makes me very sad my wife and daughter think I'm so judgmental and mean that they have to lie to me, I guess I've brought it on myself. You and I have butted heads so many times when you have wanted to do something I haven't approved of that I imagine you are a little tired of it by now. And your mother, bless her heart, was just trying to protect you. _

_When I was off doing my deep thinking, I started to wonder how I failed to pass on good morals and values to my kids. Your mother and I certainly taught you better than to live in sin with a man. I was all up on my high horse about that, and then I thought back to your first marriage, when you did everything your mother and I wanted you to. You moved back to Atlanta, found a man, had a church wedding, bought a house…we were so happy. And then Hart turned out to be a controlling asshole who betrayed you and almost ruined your career. I never thought I'd encourage a kid of mine to get divorced, but I wanted you as far away from that monster as possible. If something like that happened to me, I'm not sure I could ever let anyone get close to me again. And you, Brenda, you have always been a little prickly to begin with, and I could tell how crushed you were by your divorce and all the trouble Hart caused you at work. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to let another man into your heart. You've tried the traditional route, and it didn't work out so well. I don't blame you for doing things differently this time. What I'm trying to say is if living together is what you need to do to be with Fritz, than that's okay with me.  
_

_I love you, Little Girl, and I'm not mad. Your Mama say Fritz is a wonderful man who treats you well and makes you happy. That matters to me more than anything._

_Love,_

_Daddy_

_P.S. Now that the cat is out of the bag, can you stop making excuses and finally let me come out there and visit?_

Brenda wiped her eyes and set the letter down on the bed. Fritz rested his hand on her lower back.

"Your father really loves you," he said softly, slowly rubbing comforting circles on her lumbar spine.

Brenda nodded, her thoughts still tangled in the words of her father's letter, words of love and approval that she was always so desperate to hear.

"How are you doing?" Fritz said, clearly not willing to accept Brenda's silence.

She sat up and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, reveling in the smell of his cologne mixed with his unique Fritz-scent radiating from his warm skin.

"I feel," she said, breathing in and out slowly, "like everythin's gonna be alright."

**Thanks for reading! I know this isn't the most exciting Dim Sum I've posted, but if you have something to say, hey, either send me a letter telling me I should be a stewardess instead of s writer, or post it here.**


	7. Mystery of the Pyramid

**Episode: Mom Duty**

**Dim Sum Challenge: The Cutting Room Floor **

**Author's notes: **I'm totally cheating here. I wrote this as a Dim Sum, but used it as a flashback scene in Welcome Her Home with Red Roses. I like it better as a little standalone, though. And it answers the question, "did Fritz leave the baseball pyramid behind on purpose?" Hell yea he did!**  
**

Thanks to all you kind people who have reviewed this dusty little tidbits. Keep them coming! You have put smiles on my face and reminded me that there are still people out there that appreciate Closerfic. To all of you who have reviewed, I send you a virtual box of Godiva chocolate.

* * *

Fritz couldn't believe her. He was standing in the living room on the phone, rivulets of sweat running down his back, muscles aching from carrying all his things into Brenda's house without the help he had expected. Before she called, his ire at her taking off was all but forgotten, and he was dreaming of a cool shower and making a simple dinner for the two of them on a their first official night living together. And now this.

He knew what she wanted the second her tone turned sickly sweet and mentioned her mother was coming to town for a surprise visit. Fritz pulled the phone away and took some deep cleansing breaths, lest some of the unpleasant thoughts bounding through is mind fell out his lips and into Brenda's ears.

Reluctantly Fritz offered to repack and remove his newly imprinted presence from her home, but before Brenda could start gushing gratefully, he added one condition: he'd be stopping by for dinner the next night to be properly introduced to Brenda's mother, or it was over. If she in any way hemmed or hawed at this, Fritz silently swore would not only leave everything as is, but he'd greet Willie Rae Johnson in Brenda's house wearing nothing but his underwear.

He hung up his cell and looked around the small house at the boxes he had just brought in, and the few items he had unpacked before she called. His eyes landed on his baseball pyramid, something he felt was necessary to have in the living room if the house was truly going to be _theirs_, and not just _her's_. He loved that pyramid. He had been collecting signed balls for it since he was a little boy. It made the perfect centerpiece for the coffee table.

Looking at his beloved toy, Fritz felt a wave of fury pass through him. He had been trying so hard, for over a year, to fit in somewhere besides the very periphery of Brenda Leigh Johnson's life. But just when he thought he had finally gotten there and was as central as that pyramid was to the coffee table…he was packed up and sent away. And he had had enough.

His anger propelled him through her house, picking up boxes, carrying out the ones he hadn't opened yet out to the U-Haul, .sealing up the ones that had been breached. He was a blur, going from room to room, grabbing his things. Fritz wasn't hurrying because Brenda wanted him to. He was rushing because he was so angry he could barely contain himself. Yes, he would definitely be gone when Brenda got home with her mother.

But he wasn't coming back.

His real estate agent hadn't scheduled the open house for his condo until the following weekend, so as soon as the boxes were back on the truck, he'd give her a call and tell her to cancel everything. He would move back into his place, and that would be that-an end to this roller coaster that was life with Brenda.

After an hour, there was only one box left sitting on the coffee table, the one he was working on when Brenda called. It had held the pyramid and a few other things.

He sat down on the couch, his adrenaline dipping, and pulled the box toward him. He removed the newspaper and bubble wrap out to make way for his beloved baseball holder, when he noticed what he was unwrapping when Brenda had called. He pulled it the rest of the way out of its confines and looked at it.

A few months before, Fritz had taken Brenda to a Dodgers game for the first time. He had bought her a Dodgers hat for the occasion, and to his surprise, wore it without complaint. She looked utterly adorable in it. He asked a stranger to take a picture of them, and she had it enlarged and put in a Dodger's frame as a gift for his birthday. Fritz debated whether or not to put the picture in his office or his condo, but his condo won out. He liked to stare at it on nights where they couldn't be together. Baseball and Brenda: his two greatest loves.

Fritz looked closer at the photo. Brenda is smiling, one of her rare carefree, million watt smiles that melt his heart. His arm is draped over her shoulder and hers is snaked around his waist, and she is pulling him against her. She looks young in her ponytail and ballcap, her brown eyes wide and laughing, as if murder and human cruelty were foreign to her. The way Brenda's head was turned, and they his was inclined toward her, made it look like she had .reluctantly looked away from Fritz to pose. He studied the picture again and took it all in: the beautiful carefree woman who was hugging a man close to her, whom she didn't want to take her eyes off of…

And then it hit Fritz. _She loves me._ There was no mistaking it. Brenda loved him. It was in the picture, as clear as day. No wonder this was the one, of all the framed photos he had, that he chose to keep next to his bed. He let his fingertips trace over her beautiful features, marveling how its true message never spoke itself until today. In the nick of time.

Fritz gingerly put the picture back in bubble wrap and taped up the box. He picked it up and headed toward the door, intent on calling Jerry to see if he could stay on his couch for a few nights once he loaded this last box on the U-Haul. The baseball pyramid caught his eye, and he cursed his own stupidity: he had just sealed up the box it was supposed to go back into.

He stood there for a minute, thinking, and then walked out of the house, locking the door behind him. He had received a message from Brenda today though that picture, a message of love, and he was going to send her one too. His beloved baseball pyramid, left on the coffee table for Brenda and Mrs. Johnson to see, said very clearly, "_I won't be forgotten_."

* * *

_I think one fault in the show is we saw Brenda harshing on Fritz a lot, but we didn't get to see enough of the tender moments, the reason why he stuck around. I like to toss them in here and there._


	8. Frannie

**"Through Another's Eyes" Dim Sum**

**Characters: Frannie (from The Big Picture) and Fritz  
**

**Author's Notes: **Didn't you ever wonder how Fritz knew what was going on at the LAPD? It was always one of the mysteries of the show...who exactly was Fritz's mole? I attempt to answer that here.

Again, I give Ho-ho's and mini chocolate bars to all you lovelies who have reviewed. I love reviews like Brenda loves Merlot.

* * *

Traffic was a bear, and Frannie got to the meeting a few minutes late. She quietly slid into a seat and smiled ruefully at the younger man next to her as he mockingly tapped his wristwatch.

"Sorry," she mouthed to her handsome friend, and he reached over to squeeze her hand in greeting, and they both turned their attention to the person speaking, an unlikely, mismatched duo amongst the crowd.

Fritz Howard had showed up to Frannie's Wednesday night Alcoholics Anonymous meetings five years prior, as shaky in his recovery as a newborn colt. She had twenty years sobriety under her belt and a tender heart, and there was something about the man's inherent gentleness that really touched her. She offered him support and friendship with a twist of mothering, which he gobbled up like a starving child. Their relationship was mutually supportive: Fritz is the only person in AA who truly understood the horrors she faced as her job as LAPD Robbery/Homicide Crime Analyst. True, she wasn't a cop, but the cases she worked on from her desk, and the pictures she saw, as part of her job gave her nightmares. Fritz knew how Law Enforcement rubbed you raw with constant exposure with the very worst of humanity, and compassion and wise words truly helped her during times when the stress of her work threatened her sobriety.

Over ice coffees on a hot summer evening a year and a half ago, Frannie chatted to a bemused Fritz about her tyrannical boss, Captain Taylor. "I've never seen him so angry, Fritz. He got demoted and they hired this hot-shot woman from Atlanta to take his place. He's beside himself, the sexist pig."

Fritz's head shot up so fast Frannie seriously thought he might get whiplash. "Atlanta? Frannie, what's her name?"

Frannie wasn't sure why Fritz was so interested. "I haven't met her yet, but it' s 'Johnson.' I saw her when she came in for her interview, though. She's a beautiful blonde, had all the guys hanging out of their seats. I guess Pope used to work with her."

The look of hope on Fritz's face was like the rising sun, and it almost blinded her to look at him. "It's her," Fritz said, his eyes with a faraway look and scenes from a distant time reflected in them. "I can't believe it's her. How could I possibly be so lucky?"

From that point on, Frannie felt like she was a silent third in their relationship. Each time they saw each other at meetings, Fritz told her about tag team phone calls, broken dates, near misses, almost kisses… and eventual success. Frannie was thrilled Fritz had finally found a woman he was truly interested in. When he first joined AA, Frannie took it upon herself to shoo away all the women who buzzed around the handsome newcomer, so he could grow comfortable in his sober skin before trying to have a relationship. Later on, she watched him flit from girlfriend to girlfriend, never really connecting with any woman he met. Brenda Johnson, however, lit a fire in Fritz that burned bright and hot, and it thrilled her to no end to see him so happy.

Frannie, whose cubical was right outside of Taylor's office, received the runoff of the constant flow of gossip that came into his office, and she enjoyed telling Fritz all about his girlfriend's work life: her cases and the brilliant way she solved them, the rancor directed at her, her reputation for handing mens' balls to them on a platter…she liked to see how proud Fritz was of his brilliant girlfriend. But after awhile, she had to ask him, "why doesn't she tell you these things herself?" Something didn't feel right.

Fritz had looked uncomfortable. "Brenda isn't so good at talking about a lot of things She has to be so tough at work, I think it's hard for her to let her guard down in her personal life. By you telling me what's going on, I know how best to be there for her. She has a hard time asking for help."

Frannie wasn't sure she was getting the whole truth from Fritz, but she trusted him, so she acted as his source of information. She got a kick out of it, to be honest. Her role in solving crimes was limited to the computer. Being Fritz's "spy," she got to sift through the copious amounts of gossip that flowed in and out of the LAPD to get to the really good nuggets about Chief Johnson and those around her.

Fritz tried to appear casual when he asked about Will Pope, but Fannie was shrewd. Pope was known as a skirt-chaser, and Chief Johnson would be right up his alley, but she didn't understand what Fritz could possibly be worried about. With his Cary Grant good looks, Fritz Howard didn't have much competition in the balding, boring Chief Pope. The worry in his eyes, though, when she told him that she had heard Taylor chatting animatedly on the phone about Pope's wife leaving him for another man had her concerned. Stranger still was when Chief Johnson testified on Pope's behalf for his custody hearing—"she didn't tell you?" Frannie asked, and a distracted Fritz shook his head and said no, mumbling something about Pope and Brenda being good friends once. The pieces of the puzzle started to slide into place.

"Ah, chocolate chip," Fritz said, rubbing his hands together. The coffee shop across the street they frequented after meetings had the best cookies in LA. "Brenda would love to get her hands on this." Fritz took a bite and moaned appreciatively. "So what's new, Frannie? Same-old same-old at the LAPD?"

_Oh, how I wish_, she thought, fiddling with her mug of tea. She poured in two packets of Splenda and stirred slowly while she regarded her younger friend. His good looks belied his hard life, but despite his emotional damage, he loved with a blinding intensity and an unshakable loyalty. She hated to be the conduit to pain, but that's where the truth led. Brenda Johnson's truth. And it often came with a high price.

"Not so same old today, Fritz, actually," she began, regret bubbling up for ever putting herself in this position.

"What, did someone actually solve a case?" Fritz smirked.

_I did_, she thought to herself. "Not exactly, Fritz," Frannie said, slowly. "See, Estelle Pope showed up today as mad as a hornet, and…" she trailed off.

"And?" Fritz prodded.

"Let's just say it didn't go well for Brenda."

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**...and we know the rest of that story, don't we? Let me know what you think. **


	9. Bleeding Hearts

(Generic) Dim Sum

Character/POV: Andy Flynn, Homewrecker (Season 3 opener)

**Author's notes: **Well, this is the last of these little Dim Sums I have sitting on my computer. I hope my muse will get off her duff and so some serious inspiring, so I can get back to all my other stories, or write a few new Dim Sums for you to snack on.

Merci Beaucoup to all of you who left reviews. You are the best!

This scene was inspired by how broken up Flynn was at the beginning of Homewrecker, when he was standing at the bottom of the stairs over the body of the 12 year old girl, barely holding it together.

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He wished Buzz would stop recording him. Flynn had tenuous control on his emotions and he didn't like the idea of his reaction to the horror-movie crime scene immortalized on film.

"This is Lieutenant Andrew Flynn"… _crap, Buzz, start the tape again_. The room was pressing in on him, and he took a deep breath to calm down. The air smelled like blood.

While Buzz droned on about why he couldn't stop legally stop the tape, Flynn's mind drifted to Ginny Wallace's bedroom. A typical twelve-year-old girl's room, stuffed animals and lip gloss, the chasm between childhood and womanhood. A pile of school papers sat on her desk, and he rifled through them, his heart aching for her lost youth. _Math, Biology, English_… he froze when he saw her writing.

Ginny put a small "heart" over the letter "I" instead of a dot.

Flynn backed out of Ginny's room, his heart cold, his mind flooded with memories of another little girl he knew, many, many years ago.

_Dear Daddy, I miss you so and wish you came home before I went to bed. I lost another tooth and I wanted to show you before the Tooth Fairy takes it! Maybe we can go to the beach this weekend, you and me. Please? I love you! XXOO Nicole_

His daughter Nicole used to leave him notes when he stayed out late, either working or drinking, or both, and at a young age she substituted the dot over the "I" in her name with a heart. Flynn would come home in the middle of the night from a particularly tough beat, or stumble in so drunk he could barely stand, and would immediately look for those little notes, written on pink paper in awkward, uneven printing by a daughter who loved him despite all his faults.

Years ago he had spent the day leaning over the body of a young woman found naked on the beach, tortured and branded like a cow, and it had taken all his strength not to vomit at the scene. He came home at midnight, soul-drained and shaky in his newfound sobriety, desperate for the fix that note could give him.

But there wasn't one.

A week later, Nicole and her mother moved out. The only notes Flynn ever got from her after that was the occasional Christmas card, and it "I" was just a letter I. Her name written without the adorning heart seemed so plain to him.

He looked down at the bloody body of Ginny Wallace. People had to be told she was more than a victim in a horrible crime. Jurors, lawyers, whomever sees this tape when this case goes to court should know this innocent kid had a tender spirit, that the bastard who did this took something very precious from this word. He had to tell them about the hearts.

He looked at Buzz, who nodded at him to start again. Flynn swallowed hard and began.

"Lieutenant Andrew Flynn, PHD. We're assuming this victim, Gennifer Ann Wallace, who signs her homework 'Ginny'…" the blood spatter on the walls morphed into uneven hearts that began to float before his eyes, and were soon joined by the ones drawn the by the little girl lying dead by his feet, and then others came and crowded around him, Nicole's hearts, and they swirled and danced until one group superimposed over the other and he couldn't tell them apart. And despite his best effort and years of practice swallowing his feelings, he couldn't stop the spasm of pain that ran through is body as the hearts blurred and melded together, blood and crayon, innocence and death, hope and loss. Even the pity in Buzz's eyes didn't act like the cold water it should have. His throat closed and his eyes stung, and turned away from the camera.

Then the tears came.

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**Can I write humor or what? Let me know. Leave a review.**


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